Over the Wall
by whenithitsthefan
Summary: Jon Snow was born with wings. His family kept his secret until he joined the Night's Watch -but he couldn't keep the wings hidden for long. AU. Maybe romance, maybe pairings, M to be safe.
1. Winter is Coming

_**Winter is Coming**_

 **Jon Snow was born with wings. His family kept his secret until he joined the Night's Watch -but he couldn't keep the wings hidden for long. AU.**

 **Disclaimer: not mine, belongs to a lot of people...but not me.**

 **Maybe romance, maybe pairings, M because this is George R. R. Martin's universe and I've got no idea what'll happen (but _please_ , you can deal with whatever I've put in this fic no matter what it is. You've watched Game of Thrones, after all).**

 **(Also, yes...I know Tyrion and Benjen rode with Jon to the wall. I know Jon asked about his mother when he was leaving Ned Stark, and they weren't having a conversation about wings or whatever. I know they made camp sooner, and the weather wasn't as bad. This is AU, idc what everyone's exact words were in the original timeline, it's too much effort, and less effort on my part means more story.)**

 **Set towards the beginning of GoT. I'm not very good with details or timelines...first season? Second season? Both, idk. Anyways, enjoy (:**

* * *

The wind whistled across the moor.

"Remember, boy…" Ned Stark knelt, putting a gloved hand on either side of Jon's head. Jon swallowed, breathing in a shaky breath as he stared into his father's eyes. "Not a soul can know. No matter how close you get with any of them...any one of them would lock you up...lock you up, or worse. Not a _soul_."

Jon nodded grimly, acutely aware of the thick wings hidden under his heavy fur coat. "Not a soul," he repeated as he closed his eyes and breathed in a shaky breath. "I know." He opened his eyes again. "I swear it."

Father and son stared into the other's eyes for several drawn-out moments, before Ned pulled him into a gruff and almost embarrassed hug. "I'll miss you. Don't get yourself killed out there, beyond the wall." He pulled away from the hug and Jon put a boot into the stirrups of his horse.

"You too -my Lord." With that sentence and a slight but faraway smile, he swung his other leg over his horse and dug his heels into the sides of the beast -he turned away from his father quickly, not wanting to draw out the goodbye any longer than he had to, as he spurred the horse away down the path from Winterfell. He could feel his father's eyes on the back of his bastard son...he could feel the welcoming castle of Winterfell, far off behind him, but he didn't look back once.

Jon Snow and the white wolf beside him rode north together, and alone.

* * *

Jon didn't think much about anything that ride. His mind was numb, whether from fear or from anxious excitement he did not know. The north, his future, the wall...with every pound of his horse's hooves on the dirt roads, they all grew closer. He didn't want to think about it all. He didn't want to think about the family and the home he was leaving behind, the men who waited for him there, or how fuckin' _high_ that wall would be. The ride to the wall was the only thing separating him from all of that, and it was over all too soon.

"Who'rye?" The thick accent demanded gruffly as Jon neared the gate. His horse snorted nervously, but Jon held the reins firmly. Ghost's ears twitched at the man's voice, and the pupils in his scarlet eyes dilated as he stared the man down.

"Jon Snow, sir." Jon sat higher on his horse. "Jon Snow from Winterfell, here to join the Night -"

"Eh, shut up and come in," the man cut him off, swinging open the gate that stood before him. "I don't care why yer 'ere or who ye are, boy. We're all the same 'ere."

 _I doubt that,_ whispered a stray thought in the back of Jon's mind, and his wings once again rubbed uncomfortably against his cloak. _I doubt that very much._

He spurred his horse through the gate, nodding to the gatekeeper who ignored him in reply, shutting the gate almost immediately.

It was a different world on the other side of the gate. Out there, the fields were greener, the air clearer, the hills quieter...in here, the clanging of metal on metal, the shouts of men, it all bounced through the frigid air and against the walls of the courtyard to reach Jon's ears. He drank in the sight for the moment -ten or so unfamiliar faces were in the courtyard, all wielding swords as if they were heavy as tree trunks, beating them against their opponent's weapons clumsily and without the grace of his Winterfell comrades. And the air...for the first time in his life, Jon could feel the cold. It didn't bother him, of course, but it was chilly all the same.

"New recruit?" One of the men watching two others fight in the courtyard caught sight of him. "You don't look like a thief. 'Less you stole that pretty black coat!" The man laughed, drawing the attention of others to him. The sparring men finished their match and looked towards Jon, and a dozen eyes were then on him. They weren't hostile. They weren't even curious. Just...bored, as if they'd been through this before.

"Name's Jon Snow." Jon stepped forward, holding his head high as Ghost padded beside him. "I'm here from Winterfell."

"Oh." The man from before frowned. "You got a message or something, Jon Snow? I've heard of ye."

Jon shook his head. "No. I'm here to fight in the Night's Watch."

Another man, this one white-haired and standing further away from the others as if observing them, raised an eyebrow. "I'd heard you were coming up north. What'd you do wrong, boy? Why are you here?"

"I wasn't _forced_ to," Jon replied, ruffled. "I came out of duty."

This seemed to surprise them. "Duty," the white-haired man repeated. "Well, you're a rare sight then. Welcome, Jon Snow. I'm the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont."

Jon inclined his head respectfully.

"Tell me, Jon," Mormont began. "Are you rested? Well-fed? The ride wasn't too difficult for you?"

Jon frowned, but shook his head. "I'm in good health, sir. May I ask -" his sentence was cut off short as Mormont strode forward and shoved a dulled sword into his hands.

"Good," said Mormont, stepping back. "Then let's see what you're made of."

* * *

Jon's hands shook on the reins as the cold crept beneath his gloves, beneath his skin, chilling the northern man to the bone. He didn't let it show on his face; his comrades' eyes were down, jaws clenched against the wind, but Jon stared ahead as the storms tossed snow through the air, settling on his hair and his lashes. Ghost treaded next to him carefully, red eyes shining in the world of winter. If the wolf wasn't a few feet from him, Jon would have lost him in the white haze surrounding the traveling group.

Several months had passed since Jon arrived at Castle Black. Several months since he had seen his family, and he hadn't stretched his wings in over a year. Even in the safety of his chambers, alone, Jon hadn't been able to take his wings out -someone could walk in. Someone could see him through the window, _anything_ could happen. The fear of discovery had remained with him since he was old enough to realize that having wings _wasn't normal..._ and so they remained tucked under his cloak and layers of fur, stiff and unused.

Back at Castle Black, back at Winterfell, his comrades and friends had wondered why he wore so many layers ( _"It's the cold, of course,"_ Jon would say, but in the warmer days of summer at Winterfell that lie became thin). His family wondered, too -Arya had seen his wings once, back when he was young and she was younger and no one but his father knew. She kept his secret, though, just as his father had, just as they would continue to do.

So the months had passed at Castle Black. He fought, he trained, became a Steward, served the Lord Commander, and was gifted a sword of Valyrian steel. He was at Castle Black when his uncle Benjen was proclaimed dead, when more news of death poured in from beyond the wall. And then, a week ago, his party set out. They took shelter with Craster and his women, and continued to ride north in search of Benjen. They hadn't found him yet. They were still searching, out here in the wild and the white.

"We have to make camp, sir," Edd called to the Lord Commander, breaking Jon from his thoughts. Jon rode between Edd and the commander, who rode the only horse in front of him. "We'll freeze soon. There are caves in these parts, I've seen them. We've passed them."

Edd was right. They wouldn't survive out here for much longer, not with this storm. Jon's horse was struggling through the snow with every step, and even Ghost kept his head down.

The wind whistled some more before Jon made out Mormont's answering nod. "Next cave we see," he agreed. "Next cave, we'll -"

 _AHOOOOOO!_

The horn blast seemed to chill Jon even more, but the end of it died out quickly and the howling wind replaced the noise once more. The wind raged in their ears for some time -the man who had blown the horn was far out of sight, travelling at the back of their group.

"One blast," Edd said, relieved, as the sound faded. "Just -"

 _AHOOOOOO!_

Ahead of him, the commander raised a hand, motioning for those behind him to stop as he pulled on his horse's reins. The commander's eyes searched the white.

"Wildlings," Jon said grimly, placing a gloved hand over the cover of his sword. "Commander -"

 _AHOOOOOO!_

Silence fell. Several moments passed.

The commander turned his head slowly, looking back at Jon -and for the first time, Jon saw fear in his leader's eyes.

"Three blasts," someone uttered hoarsely -the voice could have been his own, he wasn't sure. "Three blasts -that means -"

" _Run."_

But they saw no wildlings, they saw no walkers. There was only white around them, swirling past their shoulders and horses, dulling their sight and their senses as their horses balked nervously. Jon could hardly see thirty feet in any direction, at best. So which direction did the horn warn them of?

...And then, in the white, Jon saw the blue. But it wasn't behind him, where the horn should have come from, where all of the men were. Morton led the pack, with Jon behind him...there _were_ no men in front of him.

"It must have bounced around the canyon." Jon admired the strength in his commander's voice; it shook slightly, but it was stronger than he could have possibly mustered. Morton stood frozen, immobile, staring at something that he could only begin to see. Jon saw it too, that blue, and the blue turned to icy eyes as something stepped forward... _something..._ a walker.

A White Walker stepped forward, an undead horn-blower standing next to him with half of his face peeled off, clutching the horn of a dead man to his chest. And behind him, dark shapes began to emerge -heads, bodies, bones, the skeletons of men and women and children far gone but still walking. The army of the dead lurched forward one step, towards the group, and the howling of the wind seemed to die down as the White Walker paused. It stared at Jon - _directly at Jon,_ he could swear. And it was only then that he realized that there was no one behind him. Grenn, Tollett, all gone, all fled. But there were still _other_ shapes behind him -more of those dark shapes, surging forward towards the two lone men.

And soon they were surrounded -a complete circle, with rotting corpses and bones on every side. Only twenty feet of air and snow separated Jon and the Lord Commander from death.

The White Walker took a step forward. The blue eyes still bore into Jon's, almost...mesmerizing, if they weren't so terrifying.

The commander spoke softly then, in the silence. "I'm don't want to die." Mormont looked at him, shivering from both cold and petrifying fear. "I'll accept the death, though. It's my duty as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. But dying, then coming back as one of _those -"_ he didn't need to gesture. Jon's eyes traveled over Walker's army. "I'm afraid of that, Jon. When I die, I don't want to come back to life. I want to _stay_ dead. I want to still be _me_."

Jon's throat closed and his heart pounded in his stomach. He realized that he hadn't been cold before, hadn't even been remotely chilled. The pure ice running through his veins now was cold, he knew. Real cold, the cold that a man felt when he could see his death. "Commander -"

He was glad that his commander interrupted him. He didn't know what he would have said.

"There's no way out of this, Jon Snow. You've been a good Steward, mostly." The Commander laughed dryly. "Will you die with me?"

 _Will you die with me?_

The words repeated in his mind. _Will you die with me?_

And still the White Walker stared at Jon Snow, holding his undead army back.

That fear all his life -the fear of being discovered, the fear of men tearing the wings off his back and shutting him away into a cell, the fear of the look in the eyes of the world when they realized that Jon Snow was _inhuman -_ the fear was gone. It was a distant fear now.

And Jon knew.

"I won't. I'm sorry, Lord Commander." He missed the look of surprise on his commander's face -those blue eyes were still boring into his soul, and if he took his gaze off them for a second he worried that he would be torn apart by the dead. "Commander, do you trust me?"

The commander's eyes flickered to the Walker, then back to Jon.

"Not like I have any other choices. I trust you with my life, Jon Snow."

"Good."

With only a half-second of hesitation, Jon Snow tore off his cloak, ripped off his jacket and cast his tunic to the snowy rocks. The wings on his back cracked as he pried them off of his skin, stiff from lack of use and the cold. He was bare-chested, and the wind beat mercilessly against his back as the wings unfolded and the feathers spread like fingers reaching for the sky.

The White Walker seemed even more stunned than the commander was. It blinked, eyes darkening cruelly as the blue gaze swept over the dark shadows on Jon's back. The world was still for several moments, as the dead stared at their leader and Jon's commander and the walker stared at him, and Jon stared back into those eyes defiantly as he shook his wings, stretching them out to what must have been three times his size.

He hadn't quite realized how big they had gotten. And as the Walker got over its shock, it lifted its arm and a guttural cry rang from its throat; the dead surged forward, closing the gap between them and the two men (the dead were much faster than he thought they would be). They had almost reached them when Jon grabbed Mormont by the side, straining his wings as they flapped once -but his feet stayed on the ground, his wings weren't strong enough. One of the undead had reached them, taking a clawed hand to drag across Jon's chest; another sunk its teeth into his side. He felt Mormont lashing out with his sword, beating them away on his own side, and Jon beat his wings again, straining against the winds and the dead that struggled to bite through his fur boots and his thick leggings. A third flap lifted him a foot into the air, and a fourth had him shooting up, up, away -a fifth, a sixth, and Jon felt himself gaining confidence in the skies. Mormont stared down, stared at the rocks and the Walker and the undead army beneath them in shock.

The two were covered in blood. Jon was sure most of the blood was his own, because it seemed to be coming from either his own torso or Mormont's bloodied sword. Whatever wounds the dead had inflicted on him, he didn't notice. The cold made sure of that.

And so Jon Snow flew south, headed towards the wall and Castle Black.

* * *

 **LMK if you want me to continue. Also if you spot any grammar or plot mistakes! Thanks for reading.**

 **-whenithitsthefan**


	2. Dark Wings, Dark Words

**_Dark Wings, Dark Words_**

 **In case you hadn't noticed, I'm using Game of Thrones episode titles for my chapter titles. Seemed fitting anyways. But fr...t** **hanks for the reviews! You have yourselves to thank for the existence of this chapter :P**

 **Warning: violence and stuff**

 **Disclaimer: george owns this shit**

* * *

They hardly made it a quarter mile past the end of the undead army when Jon's vision began to grow fuzzy. His blood left a trail in the snow far below them; blood was leaking from the wounds in Jon's chest and stomach, and he was losing strength fast. His shoulders ached, and the muscles above his shoulder blades felt almost worse than the pain in his midriff. Lack of use left his wings weak from the short flight...and Jeor's weight wasn't helping.

There were stars in his vision -stars, spots of blackness, and a tree approaching fast. With little grace, Jon yanked his wings back from the tree, narrowly avoiding a collision with the trunk as twigs scraped his bare skin and face. The two plummeted towards a snowbank. Jeor had the foresight to brace himself.

Jon did not.

 _"Oof!"_

The wind was knocked out of his chest and he gasped, sucking in the frozen air and coughing as the cold burned down his throat. Jeor rolled away from him, all four limbs on the ground as he heaved dryly into the snow.

"Are…" Jon pushed down the bile in his throat. His teeth were chattering now -with the immediate danger of being eaten alive gone, the wind against his bare skin was beginning to make itself known. "You...okay?"

"You're asking if I'm okay?" Jeor certainly sounded better than Jon felt. Shaken up, sure, but not cold, not wounded, and intact. "Have you seen yourself?"

The snow pressed against Jon's bare back. He suspected he would get frostbite soon -already, some of the feathers on his wings had frosted over. He didn't have the strength to shake the ice off.

"The...dead are close." Jon didn't answer Jeor's question, struggling to sit. His wings wrapped around his pale body instinctively, keeping him warm. "We need to...move. They'll be able to -"

"Track us? I know. How could they not, with you bleedin' out all over the place. Here -" Jeor moved forward suddenly. "You're freezing, boy. You're wounded, you're exhausted." The old man took off his cloak, wrapping it around Jon's bare shoulders. "But we can't stay long."

"Aren't you going to ask?" Jon looked up at his commander, pulling the cloak close gratefully. "You're not going to ask why the fuck I have wings?"

Mormont's eyes had been avoiding Jon's wings for the conversation, but with the focus drawn to them now his curiosity got the better of him. Mormont stared at the black shadows that wrapped around Jon's shoulders, eyes travelling around his torso with awe.

"They really are beautiful." Jeor didn't answer Jon's question. "And I want to ask, I do. But you don't have the strength, and I can't very well carry you home. Can you...fly again?"

The thought of taking to the skies again was thrilling, really -Jon had only flown once before, and he had forgotten how beautiful the world looked from above. But… "I don't know. I think adrenaline motivated me before. Don't know…" He coughed. "Don't know if I have the energy. I can try."

"We'll rest a minute." Jeor peered back into the trees, the way that they had come. "But we can't for long. They'll find us soon. They'll catch us -those dead fucks are fast."

"I know it." Jon leaned back against the tree beside him, closing his eyes as he put his hand over his gut. The bleeding wasn't as bad anymore; the blood on his stomach had frozen against his skin, creating a layer of red ice that closed the hole that the waif had bitten through his stomach. Jon wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

Jeor eyed the wound on his stomach, concern evident in his eyes, but the commander said nothing. Jon was glad.

"How far is the wall?" Jon asked, eyes still closed. "How far will I have to fly?"

Jeor frowned. "We should find the rest of the Watch," he replied, breathing into his hands. "They're off somewhere in that direction." He nodded to the northeast. "That's where I saw their arses disappear to, anyways. I don't blame them for running, though."

"They could be dead by now," Jon said softly as he pictured the faces of his friends. "And if we find them, they'll kill me. Hell, you'll kill me."

Jeor frowned, and Jon was surprised to see genuine confusion on Mormont's face. "Kill you? Boy, why would I do that? Why would they? You saved my life."

"But my wings -"

"We don't kill our brothers, Jon Snow. We are men of the Night's Watch -and you've been hiding a secret from us, yes, but we're not going to bloody _kill you_ for that. I doubt those wings are your fault, anyways."

"I was born with them," Jon muttered, staring resentfully at the shadowy feathers curled around his shoulders. He had always hated his wings. They were just another thing that made him different...a bastard with wings. What a laugh. "Must have been my mother. I don't know, my father never told me."

 _And now he never will._

"Well, I'll bet you're glad for them now." Jeor raised an eyebrow, then stiffened, staring back the way they had come. Jon couldn't hear anything, only the wind, but he pushed himself to his feet with difficulty as Jeor did the same.

"You heard something?"

"I thought…" Jeor nodded. "Normally I wouldn't think twice, but...well." He peered into the whiteness. "They'll be on their way. We should move."

"Any way you can lighten the load?" Jon asked apologetically. Mormont nodded, hesitating for a moment before dropping his sword and scabbard into the snow, followed by the heavy furs on his back. Jon kept his own sword -the Valyrian steel weighed very little.

Jon heard something then, too -a ragged snarling, animalistic and inhuman -and he held his breath, peering into the woods as he took Jeor's hand. Any moment, he expected to see an undead creature slithering around a tree, skinless hand clawing for them…

But his eyes widened instead as Ghost came tearing out of the woods.

"You escaped," Jon whispered, taking a shaky step forward. But Ghost only snapped at him, as if in warning, as he skidded to a stop, peering behind him. The canine's red eyes looked back at Jon.

 _They're right behind me_ , the wolf seemed to say. _Run, Jon Snow._

Jon sucked in the cold air, staring into the trees. Already, he was beginning to see the shadows of the dead men.

 _"I'll meet you at the wall, boy,"_ he whispered to the direwolf, eyebrows furrowing as he buried his head into the wolf's fur. "Now, go. Don't worry about us, we'll be fine."

As always, the intelligent animal seemed to understand, glancing over his shoulder once before licking Jon's hand and taking off in the opposite direction, into the woods.

"Let's go, Mormont," Jon said, standing. "Hold on."

Jon summoned some of the last reserves of his strength. He took a step forward, wings spreading again, and he grunted in effort as he beat them against the air.

Despite the lighter weight, it was harder than before. The dead screamed behind them, rushing forward in a wave of grey bodies. Jon took another step, and his boot sunk deep into the same snowbank they had crashed into as he yelled hoarsely in what could have been anger -but it was useless. They remained on the ground.

The dead were close.

"I can't do it," Jon's voice was hoarse. The sides of his face were ice, and he was sure that tears hung frozen on his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Lord Commander, I can't carry you. We have to run."

They couldn't run. Jon knew it, Mormont knew it. Jon was too weak. They only hope had been flight, and that was gone.

And still, the dead surged forward.

Jeon seemed to reach a decision. The commander placed a gloved hand on Jon's shoulder, jaw locked grimly. "Don't blame yourself. You did the best you could do." Mormont reached down to lift the steel sword he had cast aside moments before. "It's been an honor knowing you, Jon Snow. Now fly."

And the Lord Commander turned, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard, a single man facing down the thousands of undead Northerners that scrambled towards them, screeching.

Jon couldn't watch. He turned away, any emotion caught in his throat. His wings spread again, beating once...and Jon Snow rose into the sky once more, this time without the added weight of his commander. His heart was numb.

Below him, behind him, the clangs of Jeor's sword faded as the commander screamed. The screams carried over the hills, through the trees...but Jon didn't look back. He sped past the treetops, shaking, dark wings moving powerfully through the air.

The trees whizzed beneath him, and his energy left him fast. He got farther than he had before, but he was still weak; there were still many miles to go to get to the wall; the cold, blood loss, exhaustion, and pure trauma were taking their toll.

 _I'm not going to make it to the wall._

He had been flying for only a few minutes when something beneath him moved. Jon's eyes focused on the movement, squinting at the white landscape. The storm had passed; he was no longer blinded by the snow stinging his eyes, but it was still difficult to see anything here. Maybe he had imagined it...

 _No_. Whatever it had been moved again -and as he looked closer, he saw the forms of his comrades, climbing over the boulders. Sam, Grenn, Edd -they were all still alive. The relief that blossomed through Jon's chest was warm and welcome.

He tilted his wings down, riding the wind to alight nearby the group. The second his feet dug into the ice, his wings curled around him -they were his only source of warmth now, along with Jeor's cloak.

No one had seen him land. He crouched behind the snowbank, watching his friends trudge through the snow. He couldn't show himself yet -that much was obvious. Not until he had something else to properly cover his wings.

It was then that he realized that Sam was sobbing silently. None of the Watch seemed to be picking on him for it like they would usually do -their heads were all down, and the conversation among the men was nonexistent.

 _They think me dead,_ Jon realized. _They think they abandoned their commander._

Which they had -but as Jeor said, they could hardly be blamed for that. Jeor himself had given the command to run when those Walkers appeared from the snow...Jon was the only one who hadn't listened.

He crept behind them for some time. He wasn't really cold anymore. His entire upper body had become numb to the cold -he was fairly sure necessity and adrenaline were the only things keeping him conscious now. Besides...his friends couldn't help him. Even if he showed himself, they were freezing themselves.

"We should have fought," Sam said after some time. "We should have helped them fight off the Walkers. We could have -"

"We could have _what,_ Sam?" Grenn bit out. "Fought them off? Ten men against thousands? _And we don't come back._ "

 _We don't come back to life, at least._

"We should have helped them," Sam repeated, heedless of Grenn's logic. "I don't care if we were doomed. We _ran._ Bloody coward, I am. My father was right."

"Hey." Edd stopped, and the rest of the pack stopped with them. Edd put a hand on Sam's shoulder, and Jon watched anxiously from behind the snowbanks. "It _wasn't your fault._ I laughed at you right along with the others when you showed up at Castle Black. And yeah, you're a coward. You're shit at fighting...but you're loyal, Sam. You're the bravest coward I know."

Sam broke down again. "I didn't even realise he wasn't behind me," he moaned. "I thought he was running with the rest of us, the commander too. And then when I looked back, I thought I would see Jon running with us, but I couldn't even see him...the things had swarmed already..."

He shuddered.

"Sam -" Grenn tried.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Sam's face was miserable. "Do you think Jon'll come back?"

"Come back?" Edd asked incredulously. "Lad, Jon was a brother to me, but even I don't think -"

"Not as a brother," Sam said. "Do you think he'll come back...as one of _them?"_

Silence fell over the group. Not one of the ten men said a word -it was obvious that they hadn't even considered the possibility. In the bushes, Jon shifted -he wanted more than anything to leap out, declare his existence - _I'm not a zombie! It's all right! ..._ but he remained still, holding his breath to wait for a reply.

"He might," one of the other men said after a while -Merek, his name was. "And if he does, we'll cut him down. We have no choice, lad. He's gone, he's dead -"

Sam moaned again.

"We have to keep moving." Grenn changed the subject. "The sooner we get back to the wall, the sooner we can report what happened, what's really out there. We still have miles to go."

Sam nodded, stepping forward with difficulty. His comrades followed suit.

And so the ten men -and Jon -made their way south.

* * *

 **Sorry :) I didn't mean to kill Mormont, it just happened. He died in the show anyways though (erm...sorry, spoiler) so I figured you wouldn't mind too much.**

 **Thanks to cew1088, Azalea, ArtimuosJackson, and lidina for the reviews!**

 **As always, any suggestions are welcome.**

 **-whenithitsthefan**


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